The Torn Man
by Dare5
Summary: He was prepared to die for her, but nothing prepared him to live for her. Robin/Marian
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Torn Man  
Author: Dare  
Pairings: Robin/Marian  
Rating: PG-13 (nothing much happens besides some smooches, but one of them is barely clothed and they are sharing a bed.)  
Timeline: A bit alternate universe, I'd say between 1x04/05. The ending is completely alternate universe._  
_Disclaimer: It all belongs to the BBC and Tiger Aspect Productions  
Summary: It's winter (and in the series, it's never winter) and Robin is shoot by the Sheriff's hunters and ends up in front of Marian's window.

Author's Note: I just finished "Wintersmith" and saw "Hogsfather" by Terry Pratchett and it inspired me to write something about Robin & Marian and the winter that never was in the series. Also, I think the explanation Robin gives about travelling to the Holy Land isn't really an explanation. They could've come up with something more interesting. And fluffy, as you will notice.

Also, please note that: All I know about English I learned from Star Trek(tm). Meaning, my vocabulary is limited to such things as "warp core" and "Commander Riker". If you find grammatical and other errors you can keep them along with my sorry-ness. Posted previouly on LiveJournal.

The Torn Man (1/2)

by Dare

It was a faint, small sound by the window.

A tiny noise, some soft ruffling, like snow falling softly on snow. Marian would not have noticed it, if she hadn't been silently staring at her empty sheet of paper, thinking about how to fill it. Her head turned and she looked over to the window, expecting someone from the forest, smiling smugly at her, but all she could see was falling snow flakes.

Her gaze wandered back to the paper, wondering what to write. _My dear Maude_, she thought and after a decided pause, she wrote down the words. It didn't make things much better. It was not as if she had nothing to tell, but some things should be left untouched, especially in a letter written to her relatives in the north who still thought of her as a fourteen year old, nice, well-mannered girl, enjoying _embroidery _before all things.

Part of her protection was to let them believe such ridiculous things, especially since she didn't know if Guy, Vaizey or, even worse, her father would secretly read her letters.

And her cousin Maude was the worst of them all. A voluptuous, small girl with large, dark eyes and a merry smile. Marian loved her and envied her. Loved her, because Maude was such a friendly, wonderful young woman, full of laughter and smiles and a warm sense of humour, and envied her, because she had four older brother who could ...

Marian grimaced.

... who could protect her from everything that was clad in black leather or which was coming out of the woods – she glanced at the window, where no one was to be seen – smiling smugly at her.

The lack of protection had made Marian strong, but she still sometimes wished there was someone else besides her father who could help her without being hunted by the Sheriff. Without having to wear hoods wherever they went. Someone who wasn't really a criminal, hunted by most official representatives of the law. Someone who didn't live in the woods, for goodness sake, and who had similar ideas of hygiene as she had.

Again, a noise from outside. This time, it almost sounded like a sigh, followed by ... the sounds of a squirrel, softly hoping through the snow.

Someone was there, at her window, she knew, and at this time of the year, it most certainly was not a nut-hiding, small animal.

Sighing, she got up and turned to the window. The additional height the change of position granted her also offered her a better view to the window. That was when she first saw the hand.

A white hand, formed like a claw. Formed, as if a crystal ball or an similar shaped object was meant to be placed onto it. Only, that on it's palm, no crystal ball was found, but snow, indicating that this hand had been there for quite a while.

What forced Marian to move was the piercing colour of blood on the blueish skin and the white snow. When she closed the distance, she saw an arm attached to the hand, the fabric covering it was torn, and bloody. And when Marian was able to touch the windowsill, she saw a familiar curved bow there, and parts of a body.

And she heard the panting. Softly, almost non-existent, done with endeavour, coming out of a throat which had been, from the sounds of it, abraded with sand and been cut open. There was also a continuous low, murmuring sound, as flowing water, but she knew, the involved liquid possibly had another colour.

A stone of fear was forming just between stomach and heart and when she looked out of the window, she saw the man leaning against the outer wall or her house, sitting on the ridge which could be abused to enter her room. There were stains of blood in the snow everywhere around him. She could see foot prints on the white cloak covering everything -- and even they were blood-coloured.

And all the while, it was so quiet; the only noise the panting and the snow flakes.

Marian managed to get hold on parts of her mind that hadn't been chased up the hills of her soul.

„Robin?" she asked.

His head just moved so he could look at her. His glance was empty, bleak and devoid of all the emotions which usually drove her up the wall. It was like looking at another person.

One of his eyes was bloodshot and then, she saw the bolt, sticking out ...

Her eyes travelled to other places of his body.

The bolts sticking out of his body.

Refusing to do anything remotely resembling panic, she half-climbed, half-leaned out of her window, grabbed Robin and stemmed, dragged and pushed him up her wall and into her room, where he collapsed against her as graciously as a fainting donkey.

„Robin?" She leaned towards his face, touching his cheek. „Robin!"

He was so _cold_, she realized, and his skin was so hard, almost frozen to a thin layer which was swimming on the soft flesh of his face.

He couldn't. He _wouldn't. _She was _not _going to allow it.

„_Robin_!" she hissed, shaking him. Panic was rising within her like a large, hot balloon.

„Ghmmm?" he mumbled, barely awake. She wasn't able to meet his glance, but at least, the mumbled sound was a sign of life.

She dragged him over to her bed, but didn't manage to get him in. Leaning against the side of it, his hands laying useless at the sides of his body, he legs spread v-like, his head rolled to his chest and stayed there. Marian wasn't sure, if he had lost conciousness again, but something was stopping him from falling over and she took it as a good omen.

Carefully, she inspected his wounds.

Three bolts: one sticking out of his upper left leg, one in his upper right arm and one just under the left side of his collar bone. The blood was frozen to his skin and fell, with growing warmth, off, like red snowflakes, forming little red dots on her carpet.

The little, generally impatient and, when it came to Robin, out of a broken heart, particularly angry voice which usually stopped her from showing the affection that she sometimes, rarely, in recent times not at all (really), not even a bit, felt for him, dictated her a short list, titled _Things To Be Done (Quickly):_

_Undress him. Clean up his wounds. Get alcohol to disinfect them. Pull out the bolts. Disinfect the wounds again. Sew them up (if necessary). Put clean bandages on them._

Also (and the tiny voice was quite snappy, when it added another thought) she should get him somewhere warm.

Her father would never allow him to stay under the Knighton roof, since Gisborne still weaselled around her, and the Sheriff's men where practically everywhere. The fact that the other day, three of Robin Hood's men had been hanged, didn't help either.

So the fireplace downstairs was out of question.

But ...

Marian glanced at the clean sheets. There was still her bed.

She looked at Robin, torn, bloody, muddy, cold, wet and several other things she tried not to think about. She noticed that, besides her ever-present anger for him that filled her with a red, hot view whenever she saw him, there was a substantial amount of worry, fear and something warmer, more fundamental and currently unnamed. She tried not to think about it and pushed it away.

"Robin," she tried. "Robin?"

An incoherent mumble answered her.

"I'm going downstairs to get some alcohol and something to clean and bandage your wounds. But you have to stay awake, you hear?" she asked in sharp, piercing tone. She hoped to get through the fog of blood loss, exhaustion and coldness which currently clouded his mind.

He didn't even look at her. His eyelids fluttered and wherever he was, it was not Marian's room in Knighton Hall.

"Robin!" she grabbed him by the chin and repeated the words he had directed at her ever so often in the past. "Look at me. _Look at me!_"

His eyes, having even more than usual the cool, blueish colour of the winter, surrounded by red what should be white, focused on her after several tries. He had to _concentrate._

_Concentrate._

"Robin," she hissed. "Do you know where you are?"

She almost saw his mind, blocked with icicles and frost, working. "Kngten?" he asked.

"Yes, Knighton. I'll try to warm you up but you have. To stay. _Awake_. You understand?" she asked. She could see the rime on his beard melting from her warm breath – and he, when he should be worried about his life or if his limbs were ever going to work properly again when she was done with him – seemed to realize it too. Her warmth and closeness and ... other things. The ghost of a smug smile appeared on his lips.

The tiny, angry voice, the tiny spirit of a sixteen-year old girl being left alone five years ago, grew even angrier at him. She was angry that even in such a situation he found first and foremost the strength to ... annoy her.

There was another word, shorter, more meaningful, which stumbled down a dangerous road right into her mind, but _that _was completely out of question.

"Stay. Awake," she advised him, got up and left the room.

Robin, his head half resting on his shoulder with ice hanging on his eyelashes, feeling miserable, felt all his extremities burn with a thousand needles, while they came back to life. His toes still felt like large chunks of a very frosty Massif Central, but they were coming back.

At least, he hoped so.

When he listened for Marian's return, he realized along with the thousand needles the pain was returning too. Thick, thundering, vibrating like a bell in his entire body with every beat his heart did.

He didn't remember much. Riders, clad in grey and dark blue, hounds, the barking. Their large, black shadows in the white forest, their giant horses dancing anxiously in the snow, the large breaths of warm, wet cloudy air emanating from their nostrils.

He himself, running, his feet getting heavier with every step done, the snow clinging to legs, the coldness stinging in his lungs, the thin sound of air getting ripped to pieces ...

... he himself getting ripped to pieces, as something hit his arm, his leg.

His clothes were wet, because ... ?

Wrinkles formed on his forehead as he nudged his brain, forcing it to work. Memories rose from misty depths, bringing white and grey pictures with them.

Him, running. His feet getting heavier. The coldness ... and then ... oh. Yes.

He grimaced, not only at the memory, but also at his heart making an extra beat which re-vibrated through his entire body.

Him ... jumping into the river, where the third bolt hit him from above.

Damn the Sheriff.

_Damn him._

Marian returned. She was carrying blankets, clothes, a bowl with hot water, white pieces of fabric and an constantly disapproving look on her lovely face.

His thoughts and his conciousness had more or less returned, but it didn't help to move his oppressed body. Also, he was still sitting on the floor and a reddish puddle was forming around him.

Marian placed everything she carried on a stool, knelt in front of him and said: "I can't believe I say that, but ... please undress."

The smug smile instantly appeared on his face.

Her tone made the weather outside look like a tropical location in the Holy Land when she added: "I'll help you."

She stripped him out of his clothes until nothing was left but his underpants. Then, she inspected the bolts. "They don't seem to be very large."

She opened a bottle of wine, wetted a white cloth with it and began to dab his wounds. Robin grimaced but didn't manage to say much. His teeth still seemed to be frozen together.

"I have never seen so small bolts," Marian continued, ignoring his mumbles. "I guess it's your lucky day. Otherwise you would've looked like Saint Sebastian."

_Qas Ferengi, the Frankish Bow. If you have enough assistants a crossbow, such as the one that wounded me, can shoot up to three missiles in a minute. Given the fact that I was hunted by half a dozen men, I am indeed lucky not to look like that Swiss speciality it's makers incredulously call cheese, _Robin thought.

Out of his mouth came a mere "Hmghl," followed by exhaustions afterwards. Everything was exhausting, even thinking, so he restricted himself to merely watching Marian who tended his wounds with such a serious and concentrated expression, he could have just ... done something which would result in a sharp blow from Marian's side.

Sitting there in front of her bed, half naked, brought back parts of the coldness and though he tried to suppress it, his teeth started clattering. Marian look up at him at the sound but said nothing.

She held his glance, while her hands did something unidentified with his wounds and just when he tried to summon enough strength just to tell her how _striking _she was, a sharp pain ripped through his body when she removed the first bolt.

He howled in pain and then, collapsed slowly and fell. Marian supported him, tried to make him sit up, while talking softly to him, but Robin was having none of it. His head started to spin, his heart beat was a painful, strong drum in his ears and what blood was left in him, rushed through his body, pressed against his eyes from the inside and made him see excruciating violet and blue stars. He almost drowned again in unconsciousness and was brutally ripped from it, when Marian plucked out the second bolt and then, the third one.

He didn't remember much of what happened afterwards. He was moved, slowly, deliberately and with lots of struggle. Then, he got to lay on something soft, like a cloud, and was covered with it, too. His teeth still clattered and his hands clung to something small, warm, soft, dry he couldn't quite identify.

He was laying in a bed, he realized, but he still felt cold. Comfortable, yes, but still cold and a tiny bit lost. There was some shifting and someone sighed, quite impatiently, he realized. He blinked, but saw nothing more than the ceiling of Knighton Hall and suddenly, his view was obscured by Marian's face.

Her strawberry-coloured lips formed words he didn't understand and one of her dark strands of her touched his cheek. He was so fascinated by the sight of her lips moving, he merely stared at them and took an effort to touch them, but a warm, smaller hand caught his own, enclosed his and prevented it from making the contact.

Robin felt such a bewilderment then; he tore his eyes from the lips and met her glance. Sparkling, sapphire-blue eyes. She had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen and he saw the anger, the hurt and the loneliness in them – all the things he was responsible for. And somewhere in the back, something else, glowing in the darkness, which had not quite emerged yet.

Marian still talked to him, but the words didn't reach his almost shut-down brain. He realized he was tumbling back towards sleep and before everything went black, he said something, told her something.

The strawberry lips ceased to move, parted just ever so slightly and he could see her perfect white teeth behind them. Her eyes were wide, confusion and bafflement in them and she never looked more beautiful.

The sight was perfect and he would have, no matter the consequences, kissed her then, but unfortunately, this was the moment he fainted.

Something in the back of his head muttered _Typical! _and finally, everything went black.

End (1/2)


	2. Chapter 2

Title: A Torn Man  
Author: ArcAlatus  
Pairings: Robin/Marian  
Rating: PG-13 (nothing much happens besides a smooch, but one of them is barely clothed and they are sharing a bed.)  
Timeline: A bit alternate universe, I'd say between 1x04/05_  
_Disclaimer: It all belongs to the BBC and Tiger Aspect Productions  
Summary: It's winter (and in the series, it's never winter) and Robin is shoot by the Sheriff's hunters and ends up in front of Marian's window.

Author's Note: I just finished "Wintersmith" and saw "Hogsfather" by Terry Pratchett and it inspired me to write something about Robin & Marian and the winter that never was in the series.

A Torn Man (2/2)

by ArcAlatus

When Robin woke in the early hours of the morning, the first thing he felt was utter and complete exhaustion. If Guy of Gisborne or the Sheriff himself would have ordered him out of this bed, he would not be able to follow their command.

At least, if they were to stab him right here and right now, he would die happily in this bed.

His brain blinked at the thought. _In this bed_, he repeated silently. _In a bed. He was in a bed? _He felt the softness of a cushion under his head. It most certainly _felt _like a bed, but there was something else.

He tried to make his spirits return, but it was impossible to do anything at all. He felt the faint burning of several wounds and knew, if he were to move, the burning would rise to a wildfire. Also, exhaustion chained him down and ... _something else._

He took a deep breath.

The smell of strawberry, sandalwood and something unique he would recognize anywhere tingled in his nose and Robin was tempted to _not believe it._

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at an immaculate plain of perfect skin and several strands of dark, shiny hair. He had his nose pressed against the warm skin, he realised, just a bit, so the tip of it wouldn't get cold. When his thoughts became aware to the rest of his body, he realised he was touching something warm, soft and _impossible._

He raised his glance to see a chin, strawberry lips, a tiny nose and closed eyes with dark, golden eyelashes. The lips were parted, only _just_, and the hair covered the cushion and parts of his own neck.

They were facing each other, he noted, one of her hands on his chest, the other entangled with his own hand. Their legs were entwined – if he were to fall out of the bed, she had no choice but to follow him.

And, when he located his _other _hand, he noticed it around her waist, almost clinging desperately to her. It was a strange thing, he thought, that _his _head was tucked under _her _chin, when in the past, usually, it had been the other way round.

In the past, five years ago, when things had been right, _he _had always comforted _her _and not the other way round, but this time ...

Five years, and lots of things had changed, even visible in such a tiny things like waking up like this.

Robin moved slightly, until his eyes were on the same level as hers. The burning of his injuries rose a bit, but settled down to an uncomfortable humming in the background he could live with. He didn't notice much, as other things captured his entire attention.

Her face was so close, her eyelashes almost touched his cheeks. Her breath formed warm puffs against his nose and her lips ...

She was _perfect_, he realized. _Radiant. Flawless._

It was a perfect moment, laying with her in her bed, the rising sun's first rays playing in her hair, making it look like a halo. He moved and the tip of his nose touched hers.

The feeling of skin against skin re-vibrated in his entire body, made it hum with sheer, intoxicated happiness.

What had possessed him to leave her?

A boy, hungry for glory, not realizing how wealthy and lucky he had been, running off with a King whose crown sparkled so much, it lured him and thousands of others into a bloody death in a land were the sun marked your skin with scars if you stayed too much under that blue sky.

Things suddenly started to come back to him: The feeling of getting roasted inside his armour, remembered the smell of the dying soldiers from both sides, the feeling of sticking a sword into the other person and the desperate urge to see the dying man not as a human being, but as something else – something remotely resembling an animal.

Unconsciously, he tightened his grip around her. Eyelashes tickled his cheeks and suddenly, he was under the blue sky again that could not scar his skin, but his very soul.

Marian was looking at him and he felt her pulling away, until she saw the look on his face and froze.

"Robin?" she asked, her voice soft, her brow furrowing. "Are you crying?"

"No," he managed. He let go of her hand and tried to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. "No, it was just --" This time, _he_ tried to pull away, but, to his surprise, she wouldn't let him.

"Robin?" she asked. Worry coloured her voice. There were so many questions linked to his name the way she spoke it. _Are you feeling well? What happened? Are you hurting? Did you have a bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?_

_Do you want to talk about it?_

The physical closeness they were sharing had removed so many barriers which had risen between them, but some were still intact. The barriers of a little boy who tried to protect a girl their parents had given to him. The little boy who had promised himself to be strong; _for her sake._

Robin had realized long ago that it was a difficult task even for the mightiest warrior to be stronger than Marian and the thought scared him.

"I can't," he managed. His voice was hoarse and he almost sobbed.

He had to get away from her, or walls would crumble he was not ready to see crumble. She was doing it again. He tried to move, but he was too weak, too hurting and Marian was suddenly quite adamant to keep him in bed with her.

Another Robin at another time would have laughed at the irony of it all.

The fact that suddenly her warmth and her concern were directed at him along with something else so old as their acquaintance itself didn't make it better.

"Marian, you have to let me leave you," he said, his voice strained. He was craving for some time to collect his thoughts, to get away from her presence, to push the blue skies back into the deepest corners where they belonged.

And he just couldn't believe what was happening. The blood loss, his injuries, his return, the fact that, since he had come back from the Holy Land, he had never spend so much time with her, her physical presence among other things ...

The circumstance that he still madly, deeply desperately loved her so much his heart was bleeding.

That she was so beautiful, it hurt ...

"I'm endangering you by just staying in your house. Not to mention your bed." He tried to laugh, but just couldn't. Everything had suddenly been ripped apart and was different in the light of this new morning.

And, from the look on Marian's face, she was going to make the most of it.

"Five years ago, you staying at my house would've provided me the security I just needed, and now, you leaving it will have to do the trick." She smiled cruelly. "Isn't that interesting?" For a second, the image of a young Robin without a beard and with lively blue eyes rose before her. She just had to smile at him to make him stumble, falter, make him fail in his concentration. He had been so happy, and she knew, he had been so smitten with her, so loving and kind. So crazy about her.

And she had returned the feeling.

And still, it had been not enough. He had left her, because it had _not been enough._

"You left me then, and you are going to leave me now. And still, I don't understand the reason for the former and for the latter." She shifted her head to look at him from a different angle and repeated her earlier words. "Isn't that interesting?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry I left," he said, squirming. "I truly am. And I'm grateful you looked after me and my wounds this night, but you have to let me go. If your father notices --"

"I had an argument with him last night. A very intentional misconduct. He won't wonder about why I locked the door. He won't surprise you in here."

"You argued with your father, so you could lock the door and _protect me_?" he asked incredulously.

She didn't even blink. "You were about to answer a question."

"Marian --"

"Do you realize how much sorrow your departure has brought upon us?" she snapped. Apparently, now, with both of them more or less clothed and him being almost unconscious from the effort the just get away from her, she now wanted to do some soul searching.

_Women_, something in his mind, whispered, but before he could indulge in the thought, Marian continued talking.

"You were gone and no one was there to oppose the new regime. No one was there to lead the lords. No one was there to protect my father from being removed from office. Because _you _had to go to the Holy Land for _glory_." She spat out the last word like a particularly bad insult.

"Believe me, it wasn't that easy," he began, but was quickly interrupted.

"Oh? And what wasn't easy about running away, Robin of Loxley?" she asked. "Mounting the horse and just riding towards the sunset? It must have been a _really hard thing to do."_

Robin shook his head at her growing anger. His wounds were burning – he was again under the blue sky. "You don't understand, Marian --"

"Then make me," she ordered him. "Make me understand why you would travel a thousand miles to get killed and leave the people you lov – cared so much about." Her eyebrows rose an inch. "Well?"

"Now?" he asked. He motioned towards their surroundings. "Here?"

"Now is as good as any time."

"I went with King Richard to protect the _country,_" he stated. He leant closer – their facing were almost touching, but neither of them seemed to notice it. "To protect you – and your father, and Nottingham. I went there, so you didn't have to see what I see."

Marian searched his eyes. "There were so many going – a Robin of Locksley wouldn't have made a difference."

"I saved the King's life! _Twice!_"

"And if you hadn't done that, someone else would have done it. You were _twenty_, Robin! Don't tell me, there wasn't a single man in the entire Kingdom who would not have been able to take your place. And is fighting in a foreign country so much more honourable, than fighting at home, protecting your people?"

Robin rolled his eyes. "You don't understand. You _won't _understand. It's useless." He tried to sit up – stars rose before his eyes and his head began to spin. And Marian, the beautiful, merciless Marian, who had followed him to the Holy Land and haunted him in his dreams there, would not let it go.

She was so angry, he realized, and so beautiful. If she didn't stop, he would --

"I don't understand, because I wasn't there? Because I wasn't a soldier? Because I loved my people more than my king? Robin? _Hm?_"

His voice was getting forceful. "You don't understand! I love Nottingham, and I love everyone living there! I was trying to honour you! All of you!"

"By getting yourself killed?" she seethed.

"I didn't get killed! I returned! I'm going to set things straight!"

"Then why did you leave in the first place?"

"I _cannot tell you!" _Desperation was growing in his voice.

"Because I'm a woman? Because I'm not a knight? Because I'm too weak, too stupid to understand?"

"You know that's not the truth!"

"_Then why?_"

He was stumbling over the words now, driven to the edge. "I was – I was trying to become stronger!"

"_Stronger?" _she huffed. "You _were _already strong! You were your father's son! Everyone knew you were strong! _You_ knew you were strong!_ Why are you lying to me?"_

"I'm not _lying_ to you!" he shouted.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she replied at the same volume._ "What was the true reason?"_

"_You wouldn't understand!"_

"_What wouldn't I understand? Why you would go _voluntarily _to a war when so many people needed you here?"_

"I _went to that war because_ I love you!"

She stared at him and he slumped down, his head hitting the cushion. He was heavily breathing now, staring at the ceiling, and the life seemed to have drained from his face. His bandages, all three of them, had red stains on them now.

For some heartbeats, there was silence. He didn't look at her, he just stared at the space in front of his eyes, while she look down at him, propped up on one elbow.

"What?" she whispered.

He didn't answer; he still seemed to be completely out of breath.

Marian closed the distance between them, leaned down and took his face into her hands, forcing him to look at her. He tried to avoid her, tried to look past her, but she wouldn't let him. Finally, their glances met.

"Robin", she whispered softly. Her voice was dripping from the previously hidden affection for him, and from confusion. She wasn't sure, if she was trembling, or if it was him – they were so close now, it didn't matter. "Tell me. The truth," she added, urging him to break the silence.

He stared at her wordlessly, tried to squirm away, but she didn't let him go. She had let him go once, she was not going to allow it again. Marian literally pinned him down with her own weight – and his injuries made it all the more difficult to move.

Suddenly, with a jerk, he shook his head. He pressed his lips together and she saw wetness forming in his eyes. "You have _no idea_," he whispered hoarsely. "No idea, how angry father was, before he died. How angry he was at me for loving _you_."

"But -- he supported the engagement," she started, but Robin shook his head.

"That was not it," he said. "No." He shook his head and his hand rose. Marian watched it in the corner of her eyes, touching her hair, playing with it. "'She makes you look like a _fool_!'" he said, repeating the words his old man had shouted at him so many years ago. There was half a smile, mixed with tears on his face, while he continued to play with her hair and sorted out her strands. "'You fell off the horse again, when you saw her! Even _Much _is able to shoot better than you when _she _is around.'" He laughed, hoarsely, full of bitterness, when he thought about all the things his father had told him. "'How are you going to protect your people if you tremble every time your future wife touches you? Are you going to lock her up in Loxley Manor every time you have to make a difficult decision?" He sighed and stared at Marian's hair between his forefinger and thumb. "'If you are going to continue in this manner, I will end this betrothment!'"

Marian just stared, thunderstruck. "He didn't say that."

He snorted. "There were worse things he called me. He died, not really peacefully, I can tell you – and he made me promise him to get stronger in order to --" Again that half smile. "To not fall off the horse every time you came to visit me. And I --" He sighed and his forehead disappeared under all the wrinkles, when he continued to study a single lock of her hair. "I was very young and made the foolish decision to become stronger by accompanying my King to the Holy Land and --" He met her eyes. "To leave you in the process." His hand wandered to her cheek and to her parted, strawberry coloured lips. His fingers graced them, marvelling at their softness. "I know you were under the assumption that I left you because I didn't love you enough. As a matter of fact, quite the contrary is true – I left you because I loved you _too much_."

His tears had started to mirror hers. One, two of them dripped down on his cheeks and Marian smiled through them. "Was it so difficult to tell me that?" she asked.

Robin smiled, reached up and tried to remove the wetness from her face, just as she tried to remove his. "Marian," he whispered, looking up into her two blue skies. "You have no idea."

She blinked once and they were gone, leaving behind two blue, sparkling eyes with wet eyelashes and beautiful strawberry lips.

And her bubbly laughter, following his words was muffled by his lips when he kissed her. It was the first time he felt her smiling under his lips and when when they separated, he saw the glow in her eyes he had missed so much and had dreamt about when he had been away.

"I loved – and still love you so much, it hurts." He rolled his eyes. "Much can sing a song about my wailing."

"But you have stopped falling off your horse," she almost reproached, skimming his nose. She drew nearer, until their foreheads touched. They were so close now – and his hands wandered over her back and _almost _touched regions of her body which were usually reserved for the wedding night. It made her all _tingly _inside.

"I wait until you are gone; then I fall off my horse," he answered, smiling. He tried to kiss her again, but her finger stopped him.

"Just one thing," she told him earnestly. "No matter, how difficult it has been in the past, no matter how childishly you have acted, how often I admonish you and no matter how unwise I find you actions time and again – I love you. Very much so. So much, it sometimes hurts."

He smiled smugly at her and out of habit, she wanted to smack him for it, but Robin just turned around, took her with him and kissed her mercilessly.

And, for the first time in half a decade, there was hope under the blue sky.

And love.

End (2/2)


End file.
